


quiet superstitions in my head

by skjei



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017 NHL Entry Draft, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Dreams vs. Reality, Getting Together, M/M, a nico mess!, i have no idea how to tag this, i shall take u inside the mind of nolan patrick!, it's mess sometimes, not that much tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 01:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18561364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skjei/pseuds/skjei
Summary: Nico Hischier to be named captain for Team Orr.He cringes a bit at first, because the fact that this guy’s name is Nico, of all fucking names, is just - weird. Nolan’s going to have to interact with this guy named Nico, probably do interviews with him, play against him, all while not thinking about the Nico from his dreams that shows up way more often now, and -Oh.Nolan turns off his phone when he sees a picture.





	quiet superstitions in my head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dhils](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhils/gifts).



> [ title from 'why georgia' by john mayer ]
> 
> for my girl perrine!!!!! happy belated birthday girly!!! ur the loml so ily and i'm sorry it took me so long to finish this!! i really hope u like it :)

It starts in 2016, after the home opener in Brandon. 

Nolan’s laying in bed, quiet, a little bit cold, and it takes a while before he’s drifting off. It’s not home, nothing close to it. He’s alone, has been for a while, here in Brandon, and - it’s a lot. The pillow isn’t comforting, not now, but sleep comes before Nolan knows it and he’s - he’s not here.

He’s on a fucking basketball court, oddly enough, somewhere that’s definitely not Manitoba, and he’s with this guy.  Nolan swears he’s never seen him before in his entire fucking life, and like - Nolan is by no means normal and has had weird dreams before but this is a bit bizarre.

The guy throws Nolan a quick chest pass. Nolan barely catches it. He’s a hockey player, not a fucking baller.

“Nice catch,” the guy tells Nolan, and he blinks. His accent - Nolan doesn’t know where it’s from, and Nolan’s not cultured enough. Swedish? Russian? And Nolan’s not an offensive asshole, so he wouldn’t say this all out loud, but it’s - it’s just a fucking accent.

Nolan scoffs, nonetheless. “I’m not fucking LeBron James,” he retorts, and the guys mouth twitches up slightly. He pushes his hair out of his face. Nolan’s sweating, he realizes. 

Mystery guys crosses his arms. Uncrosses them. “You know, I don’t even play basketball,” he says, and Nolan’s not really sure how to respond. Like, he’s not a shy person, but he’s never really been put in a situation like this. 

Nolan shrugs. “Neither do I,” he admits, lamely, and the guys smiles. It’s more mischievous than, like, warm, and Nolan’s fucking _done_.

“I figured,” he says, and Nolan snorts. Dribbles the ball a couple of times, fuck basketball. Fuck this guy. Like, not that - not like that, Nolan just - 

“You wanna go?” Nolan gestures at the steel hoop behind the guy, and he grins, toothily. Nolan receives a nod before he dribbles the ball, like the complete and utter idiot he is. 

  
  
  
  


So, Nolan does well in his first year as captain. To say the least. 

He’s injured more than he’d like, but - obviously. No one likes to be injured, especially when you’re a top prospect that’s rumored to go first in the draft - 

He should probably stop thinking about that. Like, sure, it’s an amazing thought. He’s been waiting for this since he played in his first game, scored his first goal. He’s watched countless drafts: Matthews, McDavid, Ekblad, he’s watched them walk up on stage and put on that jersey. 

Nolan thinks about it a lot - getting drafted. Too much, probably. It’s just so _ easy  _ to have that fantasy, and have it so close. 

_ And with the first pick in the 2017 NHL Draft, the Winnipeg Jets select; from Winnipeg, Manitoba: Nolan Patrick.  _

It’s not going to turn out exactly like his childhood dream, Nolan knows, but he can’t help but just -  _ dream.  _ He can dream, damn it. 

So, Nolan dreams, but not about getting drafted. He dreams about that guy. 

They’re not at the basketball court this time, but they’re in this apartment that’s definitely not Nolan’s. He doesn’t see the guy, not right away, so he’s left walking around the almost empty apartment. 

There are a few boxes stacked, like someone’s just moved in, and Nolan walks over to them curiously. He notices so black sharpie on the side of the box. He crouches down, to get a better look. 

_ Nico,  _ is what’s written, and the handwriting is so fucking neat. Nico - it’s a nice name, Nolan decides. 

Nolan turns his head when he hears a sound coming from behind him. It’s - Nico, shoving some boxes into the corner. Nolan wonders if Nico’s aware, if he knows that Nolan’s here right now. Nolan stands up and fiddles with the hem of his polo shirt (one that he definitely didn’t own before this dream, may he add).

“Nico?” Nolan asks, trying out the name, and Nico turns his head abruptly. He almost drops a box, and Nolan shuffles toward him, trying to help. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Nolan says, softly, very apologetically. Nico sets the box on the ground, makes this hand gesture, waving it off. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Nico replies, putting his hands on his hips. Nolan watches how his eyes scan around the apartment, and he tries not to look to closely. Or stare. Whatever. 

Nolan doesn’t realize how quiet he’s being, when Nico looks back at him. “Sorry, it’s such a mess,” he says, flustered, and it’s cute. Nico runs a hand through his hair, and Nolan has to laugh - not in a judgemental way, like - a friendly laugh. Nolan’s eyes scan around the apartment again. It’s really not  _ that _ horrible - just a few empty boxes of unpacked things. He’s got a ping-pong table set up near the kitchen, almost, which Nolan just finds comical. 

“It’s honestly not that bad,” Nolan tells Nico, which earns him an eyeroll. “What? I’m serious!” Nolan’s acting all defensive now, and Nico laughs now, which is nice. 

Nico’s smiling a lot, now. “Whatever,” he says, and Nolan hears the remnants of laughter in Nico’s voice. Nolan gestures to the box sitting in the corner of the room. 

“What’s in there?” he asks, and Nico waves it off. 

“Just clothes, nothing interesting,” Nico replies half heartedly, and Nolan can’t help but notice the way each syllable is so pronounced, when Nico talks, and he - should stop thinking about that, probably. 

Nolan sticks his hands in his pockets. “I can help you. Put your stuff away, I mean,” Nolan’s words come out stupid and stuttering, and Nico lets out a small laugh. He shrugs. 

“If you’re up for that,” Nico says, and Nolan nods, quite possibly  _ too  _ eager. It’s just, like - putting away clothes. But it’s with Nico, it’s an escape, and it’s a  _ dream,  _ for god’s sake. 

It could be seconds, minutes,  _ hours,  _ and Nolan wouldn’t know. It’s so easy, this whole fucking thing. Nolan and Nico are sitting on the bare, mahogany floor, folding Nico’s shirts and they just talk, just small talk. The mood swings greatly when Nolan pulls out a bright pink t-shirt, and Nico tries to snag it from him. 

“Woah, woah! Something to hide?” Nolan teases him, and Nico’s flushed red, burying his face in his hands. It’s an actual neon pink Hockey Canada t-shirt, and Nolan tries not to burst out laughing. Because, like - why the fuck would Nico even  _ have  _ this. He’s not - he’s not Canadian - and it’s not like Nico’s ever sat down and told him that but Nolan knows his Canadians. 

“Hockey, Canada, eh?” Nolan’s grinning, and he tries not to move when Nico buries his face into his shoulder. He’s so embarrassed. Nolan thinks it’s probably the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

“Shut up,” Nico grumbles, and Nolan has to laugh at how Nico sounds like a little kid. He nudges Nico, and he looks up, fighting a smile. 

Nolan holds this shirt up to himself. “Where can I get myself one?”

  
  
  
  


Nolan sees Nico most nights, now. 

It’s not like he goes to bed thinking about him. Nolan’s got a lot of other things to think about - the game he just played, the practice he has to wake up for the next day, his season, the fucking draft - it just, you know. Happens. He’ll be in bed, and then he’s not. He’ll be in Nico’s apartment, the basketball court, walking down the street with him in some random Canadian city, it’s so fucking unpredictable. 

See - Nolan can’t control it. Maybe that’s why it brings such an adrenaline rush. 

Most of the time, it feels like Nolan carries his whole life in his bare hands, practically. His career, which depends on how he plays, whether or not he gets injured, and then and then and then. It’s nice, really. To not be in control. He doesn’t do crazy shit with Nico, like jump from fucking buildings or buy a yacht or whatever the fuck. They probably could get away with some shit, considering it’s all in Nolan’s head. They do normal things - play games, cook, talk. They do a lot of talking. It’s so close to being real, it  _ feels  _ so fucking real.

And maybe that’s what scares Nolan the most.

When he’s with Nico, it doesn’t feel like a dream. He knows the feeling of Nico’s legs sprawled over his lap and his head nuzzled on Nolan’s shoulder. He can feel his presence, hear his words in his ear. That’s what separates a dream from  _ this,  _ Nolan decides. He knows what it’s like, what it could be like, if he ever knew Nico. 

He doesn’t like thinking about that either - whether or not he’d ever really know Nico. He figures that knowing him would be nothing like his dreams, so Nolan’s content with never finding out.   

  
  
  
  
  


Nolan’s sitting on the plane that’s Quebec bound a couple months later, and he thinks about a few things as he scrolls through articles on his phone. 

He thinks about the game - getting to be captain for some of the  _ top _ top prospects. That’s all he really knows at this point - he’s never really looked at who’s coming, who’s not, so here he is. To get a step ahead of the press _ ,  _ Nolan figures. He Google’s ‘top prospects game 2017’ and hundreds of articles pop up (not before Nolan accidentally misspells ‘prospects’).

_ Nolan Patrick to be named captain Team Cherry.  _

This is the first thing he sees. It is not bad at all. Maybe Nolan should read the news more. He taps on the article.  

_ Nico Hischier to be named captain for Team Orr.  _

He cringes a bit at first, because the fact that this guy’s name is  _ Nico,  _ of all fucking names, is just - weird. Nolan’s going to have to interact with this guy named Nico, probably do interviews with him, play against him, all while not thinking about the Nico from his dreams that shows up way more often now, and - 

Oh. 

Nolan turns off his phone when he sees a picture. 

  
  
  
  
  


Nolan’s the opposite of ready when he’s preparing for the captains photoshoot. He’s weighing the things that could go completely right or, what Nolan does not prefer, totally fucking wrong. 

Nolan could meet Nico and he could be a really nice guy and Nolan can forget that he dreamed about him. A lot. 

Nico could come out with it first, say something on the lines of “you’re the guy in my dreams” and Nolan could be like “same” and it could be this big, happy love fest and all could go well in the future. 

Or - Nolan can’t keep it a secret and tells Nico and, of course, Nico things he’s some fucking crazy stalker and everything’s a complete disaster. That’s the one that Nolan’s a bit worried about. 

Nolan gets to the shoot spot first, wearing his team’s jersey and he just has to awkwardly wait with PR before Nico shows up. They end up prodding him, asking him for a few words and Nolan, being the completely generous guy he is, agrees. 

It’s mostly questions like “How does it feel to be here?” and “Is the draft in your mind right now?” and other shit like that. Nolan answers them easily, because he’s dealt with the press before, so he knows a thing or two about what to say and what not to say. He picks a reporter and says that this is the final question. 

The reporter holds her microphone closer to Nolan. “How excited are you to play against Nico Hischier?” she asks, and Nolan has to really collect himself. Because this is definitely  _ not  _ what he signed up for. 

(On the contrary, this question really shouldn’t be that difficult to come up with an answer but then Nolan thinks that most prospects don’t have vivid dreams about other prospects so he cuts himself some slack).

He shifts his weight, doing his best not to look uncomfortable. “Y’know, I haven’t met him yet, but I’m really looking forward to meeting him. It should be a - fun couple of days,” Nolan nods, takes the mic off of his shirt and he shakes off any other stupid nerves and emotions. 

He figures Nico shows up then, because the press are called to a different room for “photography purposes”. Whatever the fuck that means. Nolan’s talking to a photographer, anxiously waiting while trying not to be anxious. He really should not be worrying. If he’s this fucking worried about meeting another hockey player, then he’s going to be completely beside himself at the draft. 

Nolan sees Nico first. He now has confirmation that it is, infact, the Nico from his dreams. Nolan takes note at how fucking weird that sounds. 

They make eye contact and Nolan smiles, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels. Nico, thankfully, smiles back, and he starts to make his way toward Nolan and the photographer.

Nico holds his hand out. “Hi, I’m Nico,” he says, so easily, and Nolan swallows. He shakes Nico’s hand. He merely utters his own name, and he has to clear his voice after because of how fucking stupid he sounded. Real fucking smoothe. 

Nolan coughs while Nico’s got this shit eating grin on his face. “Think you’ll be okay for the shoot?” he asks knowingly and Nolan has to roll his eyes. 

“Shut up,” Nolan grumbles and Nico laughs brightly. The tips of Nolan’s mouth curve upward. He thinks they’ll get along just fine. 

  
  
  
  
  


Other than Nolan being a bit of an idiot, the shoot goes well, and Nolan makes it back to the hotel before Nico - since Nico was pulled away for media. 

The room is fine, because it’s just some regular hotel, so Nolan makes himself feel at home. He doesn’t move from the TV room, legs sprawled out on top of the ottoman as he holds a can of Coke in his hand. He queues up some random, trashy Netflix movie on his computer and let’s himself relax for the first time in what feels like forever. 

Nico walks in probably forty minutes later, and he says nothing before crashing on the couch next to Nolan. Nolan shuts his computer and looks at Nico. 

“Exhausted?” he chuckles and Nico rubs his eyes. 

“Understatement,” Nico replies, and Nolan laughs. Nico leans forward to grab the remote, and Nolan just kind of sits there and rolls with whatever Nico wants to do. He watches as Nico’s thumb hovers over the on button, and Nolan tries not to be the ass that grabs the remote from him. Nico looks over. 

“A friend in Switzerland said to me once,” Nico fumbles with the clicker and Nolan waits for him to continue. “The channel you turn the television on is your destiny.”

Nolan has to laugh at that, but Nico looks too serious so he stops himself. “What, you believe that?” Nolan asks him, brushing his hair behind his ear. 

Nico shrugs. “Don’t know. He never - what’s the word?” Nolan watches Nico closely, how concentrated he is. “Expanded is not -”   
  
“Elaborated,” Nolan finishes, and Nico points at him. “That’s the word,” Nico says, and Nolan doesn’t have to say anything before Nico turns on the TV. Nolan sips his Coke lamely, watches the TV slowly turn on. It’s not - he’s not about to believe the shit that Nico’s friend suggested, but -

The NBA. It’s fucking basketball. 

Nolan’s thoughts immediately drift back to when he (technicall) first met Nico. On some old, worn out basketball court in god knows where. He watches the TV closely - not close enough to see the Rockets sucking wind against the Celtics. His jaw drops the slightest before he catches himself, and he looks at Nico. He’s looking at the TV. 

“Huh,” Nico says, and Nolan can’t really think of anything much to say that doesn’t relate to his Nico dreams. Nolan nods, even though Nico can’t see him. Nico glances over. 

“Have you played basketball before?” he’s looking at Nolan closely - too closely, almost - and Nolan nods, trying to avoid Nico’s gaze.

He swallows. “Once or twice,” Nolan says, and Nico changes the channel. 

  
  
  
  


The game comes and goes smoothly - even though Nolan’s team Orr loses - and soon enough Nolan’s about to be on his way back to Brandon. He and Nico are standing outside of the hotel, waiting for their cars when Nico nudges Nolan’s side with his hip. 

“Can I have your number? To keep in touch before the draft,” Nico asks him like it’s nothing, because it is. Nolan pulls his phone out from his pocket.

“Sure,” he agrees simply, and Nico almost snatches Nolan’s phone from him, when he unlocks it. Nolan can do nothing but stand there and smile back, when Nico peers over the phone with a smile of his own. He hands Nolan the phone just as his car is pulling over toward the two.

“See you at the draft, yeah?” Nico tells him, and Nolan almost brings up the dreams - mostly because he knows he’ll see Nico before the draft, but -

“Yeah, the draft,” Nolan replies, lets his other words die in his throat.

  
  
  
  


Nolan plays. Nico plays. June approaches.

Nico and Nolan are taking turns being the top draft prospect, and Nolan’s that guy more times than none. He doesn’t - Nolan  _ shouldn’t  _ be thinking about. He does.

He’s really stressed one particular night when his agent texts him about preparing for the press about two weeks before the draft. There’s a list of all the things he can say, can’t say, should say, shouldn’t say, his tone - it’s too much. Nolan can feel his blood boiling and he throws his phone across the room, to the wall, and he buries his face into his pillow and he just wants to be away from it all.

He sees Nico that night in the same little apartment. 

They’re both sitting on the couch, watching some stupid infomercial that just happened to turn on. They’re sitting close, with a warm bowl of microwave popcorn balanced on their laps. Their shoulders are pressed together, and they grab popcorn from the bowl almost rhythmically. It’s nice. Calm. A change.

Nolan spots three suits hanging on a rack next to the TV. “What’re the suits for?” he asks, one answer hanging out in his mind - the answer he hopes Nico doesn’t bring up. Nico shrugs, swallowing his popcorn. 

“An event I have in a couple of weeks. Not a big deal,” Nico says easily, grabbing another handful of popcorn. The back of Nolan’s mind reminds him that the draft is in a couple weeks, almost brings it up - he decides not to. Not directly. He doesn’t need real life to get involved with the dreams. These are Nolan’s - Nolan’s escape. As silly as it sounds.

This is also a place where he can just talk. Because he doesn’t know for  _ sure  _ that Nico - that Nico  _ knows  _ about this. That he’s really, truly apart of this.

“I’ve got an event coming up in a couple of weeks, too,” Nolan decided on saying, and Nico turns toward him. 

“Yeah?” he asks and Nolan nods. His worn out face must be a dead giveaway. “Are you - worried?” Nico trips on the word slightly and immediately is flustered, and Nolan thinks it’s just cute. 

“I mean - yeah. A little,” Nolan says, knowing that ‘a little’ is a very large understatement. He knows Nico is waiting for more from him. He takes a breath. “I’m just a little nervous about seeing someone there.”

Nico nods slowly, and Nolan’s afraid that if he moves too much, breathes too loud, that he’ll ruin the moment. It looks like Nico is going to say something, so Nolan looks at him expectantly. It’s definitely not an excuse just to look at Nico. Nope.

Nico bites his lip, look at Nolan. “Why are you worried? About seeing them?”

Nolan thinks about that question. Valid point. He shouldn’t be worried. He should be excited, hopeful, neutral, even. The only thing he actually  _ should  _ be worried about is where he’ll be fucking drafted to - he should be weighing out how difficult it could be to see a fellow prospect, jesus. 

“Honestly, I don’t -” Nolan cuts himself off, feels Nico’s gaze on him like the sun on the beach. “I just - I think I, you know. Like - them,” Nolan stutters, and the room is so god damn quiet he could probably here the conversation the apartment two door down. Nico nods solemnly, grabs a single unpopped popcorn kernel. 

“I understand,” Nico replies, before flicking the kernel across the room. The way their legs are touching becomes apparent to Nolan, right now. 

“Yeah?” he croaks, and Nico nods in response, and Nolan feels his heartbeat practically everywhere in his body. 

  
  
  
  


Nolan’s on his way to Chicago before he has time to think. 

His mind is occupied with what to say, how to act, where he’s going - there’s not enough time to think about other things. That’s what Nolan decides. 

He gets there, and it’s - a lot. A lot of media, a lot of shaking people’s hands, a lot of social fucking interaction. Nolan’s drained by the time he sees Nico. For more media. 

Nico grins, when Nolan sees him, and they walk toward each other without a second thought. They hug, and it’s friendly, with all of the cameras around them. Nico’s got this huge grin on his face, which seems to be contagious. 

Nico flicks Nolan in the shoulder. “How’ve you been?” he asks brightly, and Nolan hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels.

“Not too bad,” Nolan answers, even though it’s sort of a lie. It’s been rough, but he’s got it. Nolan can handle it. Sort of.  

There’s already reporters trying to ask Nico questions, and it’s a little overwhelming for him, Nolan can pretty much tell. Then Nolan’s agent is calling him over, and he doesn’t want to leave but Nico grabs his arm.

“I’ll see you in the room tonight,” he says, locking eyes with Nolan and Nolan can do nothing but nod. 

  
  
  
  
  


It’s a little after nine, when Nolan gets to the hotel room. Nico’s coat is on the couch, so Nolan knows he’s here, but it takes a minute before Nolan finds him on the balcony. He contemplates joining him for probably ten seconds before making up his stupid mind. Nolan throws his jacket on his couch next to Nico’s and he tries to not be so loud when he walks onto the balcony. Nico’s leaning on the rail, and Nolan leans next to him. Nico turns his head.

“Oh, hi,” he says shyly, almost, and Nolan gives him a small smile. The balcony is nice, overlooking pretty much all of Chicago. The city is still bustling, car horns faint and an occasional shout from a pedestrian. Nolan almost forgets he’s with Nico, for a minute, but then it’s so apparent, that it’s just the two of them here. 

Pressure builds up in Nolan’s throat. “We’ve met before,” he bursts out, Nolan supposes it’s now or never. Nico looks over at him, puzzled, and Nolan regrets a lot of things.

“Yeah,” Nico says slowly. “We met at the prospect’s game.” Nolan can’t seem to pinpoint Nico’s tone, but he knows that Nico’s probably confused - no, definitely confused - and Nolan confirms with himself that this is a really bad fucking idea.

Clearly, this doesn’t stop him. “No, like - before,” Nolan says, and his voice cracks embarrassingly, but Nico - doesn’t look as confused. He looking down at his feet, unfolding his hands on the railing before meeting Nolan’s gaze. 

“I know,” Nico breathes, nodding, as if it weren’t enough confirmation. Nolan’s not sure how he’s supposed to feel - mad, happy, confused - because he’s never had to deal with anything like this before, obviously. He’s looking at Nico closely, and Nico’s doing the same and the city doesn’t seem as loud as it did before. 

“The - the dreams, you -”

“Yeah,” Nico cuts him off, and it’s probably for the better, because Nolan doesn’t really want to hear the sound of his voice, now. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

“Nico,” Nolan whispers, still trying to gather his thoughts and say  _ something  _ coherent, but Nico grabs his fidgeting hand. 

Nolan’s too caught up in his thoughts when Nico kisses him, sweet and gentle, and Nolan can do nothing but stand there and let himself be kissed. 

It might not be the best idea, kissing Nico Hischier on the balcony of their Chicago hotel room, especially the day before the draft, but Nolan’s only thinking about the way Nico feels - hand wrapped tight around his own, his lips warm against his. Nico pulls away slowly, and he’s grinning sheepishly, which Nolan has to laugh at. The whole thing is so dysfunctional - not that it matters, really. 

Nico bites his lip. “Can I do that again?” he asks, and Nolan isn’t sure about a lot of things but he is sure about this.    
  
“Yeah,” he breathes out, and Nico lays a hand on Nolan’s face before pressing his lips against his, and it’s so much more, actually being here, with Nico. 

When Nico squeezes his hand, Nolan feels complete, more than he ever could feel in one dream. It’s something he really, really could get used to. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
